She took another sip. So now what? Oom Grobler had been absolutely adamant.
‘Is Oom positive?’ she’d asked the old stationmaster. ‘It’s six years ago. Oom could be mistaken.’
‘Listen Annamari – sorry, Mrs van Zyl. Nothing’s changed. There was never a train from Bloemfontein on a Thursday, or a Friday. The train only comes through here on Monday and Wednesday and now I hear they’re going to stop that too.’
‘What about the goods train? When did that run?’
‘I’m talking about the goods train. We haven’t had a passenger service here in Driespruitfontein since Lourens Muller was Minister of Transport, back when PW Botha was still in charge.’
‘What about the bus from Pretoria?’
‘What bus from Pretoria?’ Oom Grobler snorted. ‘There’s no bus from Pretoria to Driespruitfontein. Never has been. You have to take the bus to Bloemfontein or Bethlehem. But the only bus from there to here runs on Wednesdays.’
On the other days, Oom Grobler said, they could use Grobler’s Taxi Service. But only from Bethlehem. That was the only option.
Grobler’s Taxi. How could she have forgotten? Oom Grobler had taken her to Steynspruit once when she was still at school and Ma was late fetching her for her weekend at home. She’d been terrified. Every time Oom Grobler had flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, the old black Valiant had veered violently to the left, almost leaving the road, and then he’d jerk the steering wheel back and carry on as if nothing had happened. After that, she’d always waited for Pa or Ma, no matter how late they were.
‘Did Oom fetch Stefan Smit from Bethlehem? Or take him to Steynspruit? The day my ma and pa were killed?’
The old man shook his head.
‘Are you sure? This is really important. What about a minibus taxi – I’ve seen them sometimes, on the road from Lesotho – could he have taken that?’
‘A kaffir taxi? No way. Not Stefan. Anyway, they don’t run all that often. Listen Mrs van Zyl. I remember it like it was yesterday. Who could forget? And I’m telling you that Stefan Smit wasn’t in Driespruitfontein that day – that week. He always phoned me when he wanted to come into town – usually for a dop at the Royal. And then he’d go back to the farm. But he hadn’t been around for quite a while. I know, because he owed me money. A lot of money. He told me he needed it to pay for his wife’s and child’s gravestones.’
‘Did you tell the police?’
‘Why would I tell the police? He paid me back – eventually.’
***
After lunch, Annamari left Pretty watching over Steyn and went in search of Petrus. She found him in the old farm manager’s house – now the Steynspruit Kibbutz Office. He pushed his chair back and stood up as she came through the door.
‘Missy Annamari...’
‘Hello Petrus, how’s it going?’
The kibbutz chairman grimaced at the mess of papers on his desk. ‘Haai Missy... I’d much rather be out ploughing than doing this. Why can’t you do this, like you used to? I don’t understand all these numbers.’
Annamari smiled. Thys had insisted that if the kibbutz was to work, the kibbutz members should understand and be involved in all aspects of running the farm. That included the financials. So every afternoon after the little school bell rang and the children tore through the door of Christo’s house to play or – Thys hoped – to do their homework, Thys took on the daunting task of teaching their parents the basics of farm financial management.
Petrus had been the first to be faced with the realities of running a successful farm. He had paled when Annamari and Thys first showed him just how much it cost to keep a farm the size of Steynspruit going. It had taken the others a little longer to understand. About ten months after the establishment of Kibbutz Steynspruit, Thabo, one of the younger members, had raised his hand at the monthly kibbutz meeting, which was being held in the open ground between the newly completed kibbutz members’ houses.
‘Ja?’ Chairman Petrus asked. ‘What is it, Thabo?’
‘We want more wages.’
There was a murmuring of assent from the others.
‘We are supposed to own this farm now. But we still earn slave wages like before. I say we should have more money,’ Thabo said.
Annamari held her breath. Only the week before, she and Petrus had gone over the books together. They had even discussed the issue of wages, but they had agreed that any increase in the members’ allowances would have to wait until after the harvest.
‘None of us earns wages anymore,’ Petrus said. ‘We all get an allowance – the same allowance. And there’s no money for more.’
‘You sound like a white baas,’ Thabo said. ‘But there’s no more white baas on this farm. That’s what Thys said. We’re all equal, Thys said. Before you cheated us with this kibbutz rubbish, our wages were more. This is a big farm and we work hard. Of course there’s money. It’s ours and we want it.’
‘What’s going on?’ Thys whispered. His Sotho had come along in leaps and bounds since moving to Steynspruit, but he still found it difficult to follow the rapid argument between Petrus and Thabo.
Annamari quickly translated. ‘Perhaps you should explain to them again,’ she suggested.
‘Petrus will handle it,’ Thys said. ‘He’s kibbutz chairman and speaking up now will just undermine him.’
‘Before, you also had to pay for your food, and your clothes, and the doctor,’ Petrus said. ‘Now the kibbutz pays for everything. We spoke about this when we were voting to turn Steynspruit into a kibbutz. We agreed that if we made a profit at the end of the year, we would decide what to do with it. Well, today we can decide. Should we share out the profit and all take a little bit? Or should we use the profit to buy something big we all can use. Maybe we should buy a minibus so we don’t have to walk to town anymore.’
Annamari watched as the argument for higher wages raged back and forth. Petrus held his ground and finally, clearly sensing the tide turning against him, Thabo backed down.
‘Now we will vote,’ Petrus said. ‘Who wants to share the profit between all of us?’
Thabo raised his hand, then slowly lowered it.
‘Who wants to use the profit to buy a minibus?’
Annamari and Thys raised their hands along with most of their fellow kibbutz members.
***
‘You always complain about the books, Petrus,’ Annamari said. ‘But you’re doing a far better job than I ever did.’
Petrus beamed and indicated the chair on the other side of the desk. ‘Sit, my child. What can I do for you?’
‘Petrus, I ...I need to ask you. About the day Pa and Ma and Christo were killed.’
Petrus sat heavily. He stared at her, clearly puzzled. She had never spoken about it with him – with any of them – before. She never spoke about it with anyone, except Thys. Occasionally. Like when he tried to persuade her to open Christo’s house for the school – which she’d done; or to clean out the room where it happened and use it for... something – which she hadn’t done. Not yet.
‘That night – did you or any of the others hear anything?’
‘We heard shooting,’ Petrus said.
‘What about the dogs? They must have barked when the terrorists came through the fence.’
‘We didn’t hear them, Missy. I wish we had.’
That’s what the police had told her. No one had heard anything.
‘Do you know what time Stefan Smit got back to the farm?’
‘I don’t know, Missy. From where?’
‘From Pretoria, of course.’
Petrus shook his head. ‘Pretoria? I didn’t know he went to Pretoria. When did he go?’
‘I’m not sure. A day or so before the attack? He wasn’t here when it happened. He only got back in the morning.’
‘No, Missy. He was here that night.’
Annamari felt her heart stop. ‘Are you sure? Did you see him?’
‘Yes. I remember that night. He put out th
e lights at his house early again. Usually, his lights were on when I went to bed. But he was in his house when we all went out to work in the morning. The lights were on inside and I saw him in the kitchen.’
‘Maybe he’d just got home.’
Petrus shook his head. ‘He was in his pyjamas. He was drinking coffee at the table. Like always. I saw him.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Five o’clock.’
‘Did you tell the police?’
‘The police?’
‘About Stefan Smit being here that night.’
‘No one asked me about Baas Stefan.’
Annamari clenched her fists. ‘What did the police ask you about? What did you tell them?’
‘Just that I heard shooting. I didn’t know what it was.’
‘And then? After the shooting?’
‘It stopped and I went outside to look, but I didn’t see anything. I thought maybe it was from Viljoenspruit again. Then I went to sleep. Then I went to work and at about nine o’clock Baas Stefan came and shouted at us. He told us to go to the khaya and stay there. So then we waited at the khaya and he came later with the policeman, and the policeman asked us if we had heard or seen anything and we said we heard shooting but we stayed in our houses because we were scared, and Baas Stefan shouted that we were lying. Then the policeman went away and Baas Stefan told us to pack our things and hamba – go, leave Steynspruit... leave our homes.’
Annamari gasped. ‘Petrus, no!’
Petrus shrugged. ‘Baas Stefan said we were lying. He said we’d helped the terrorists but we didn’t know what the terrorists had done. Then Baas Thys came and told us about your ma and pa and Kleinbaas Christo.’ Petrus wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘Baas Thys told us to stop packing. He asked us to stay. Baas Thys said you needed us, Missy Annamari. He said he knew, and you knew, that we would never have helped the terrorists. So we stayed.’
‘Oh gosh, I wish I’d known that. I would have fired that horrible man right then and there. And maybe saved Beauty... But Petrus, are you sure? Are you absolutely sure that Stefan Smit didn’t go to Pretoria for a few days before... the day before... that night?’
‘Missy, he was here every day and Pretoria is very far.’
Chapter 16
1995
The ref blew the final whistle. ‘Daar’s hy! That’s it!’ Thys punched the air, then bounced off the couch to scramble across the room to the ringing phone.
‘Hello? What? Hang on....Let me turn the TV down. Quiet!’ he yelled at the boys who were whooping around the lounge, Arno in the lead, followed by De Wet. Steyn toddled along behind, imitating his brothers with lusty shrieks of his own, delighted to be released from the constant shushing and tension that had gripped them all the entire afternoon. Arno glanced at Thys and quickly led his troops out the room. Annamari raised her eyebrows but Thys was speaking into the phone once more.
‘Ja? Brian!... It’s Brian, from New Zealand,’ he mouthed at Annamari. ‘Brian, where are you?... What’s the time over there? Uh huh... uh huh.... Ja... Well, I always said we’d beat the Aussies... ja, it was a nice opening... how long.... Fantastic... ach no, shame...that’s terrible.’
Annamari watched in frustration as Thys listened, and listened and smiled and frowned and nodded.
‘What?’ Annamari asked. Thys motioned to her to wait. Out the corner of her eye she could see the panel of TV experts silently dissecting the opening game. They replayed Joel Stransky’s try. She glued her eyes to Thys’ face. He looked stunned.
‘You are kidding! Really? You can’t be serious!...Ja... ja... no fine. I’ll speak to Annamari and phone you back at the farm.... Ja, we have the number.... Ja, okay, I’ll phone you just now – okay, tomorrow....Thanks.... Ja. Bye.’
Thys replaced the receiver. He walked slowly back across the lounge and sank down onto the couch. He shook his head.
‘What was that all about? What did Brian... where’s Diana... are they coming to visit?’
‘You are never going to believe this,’ Thys said. ‘You are just not going to believe this. I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it...’
‘Thys!’
‘That was Brian,’ Thys said.
‘I know that. What did he want?’
‘They’re coming to South Africa for the World Cup. Him and Diana.’
‘That’s wonderful. Are they coming to visit?’
‘Maybe, but they may not because they want to go to Cape Town and to the Kruger and...’
‘Oh, that’s sad. So we won’t see them.’
‘No, we will. We will see them. You’re not going to believe this...’
Annamari clenched her hands to stop herself reaching over and punching the huge grin off her husband’s face.
‘Brian’s parents were supposed to come with them but his ma has had an accident and can’t travel,’ Thys said, beaming.
‘That’s terrible. What happened?’
‘Dunno. Anyway, she can’t come and his pa can’t leave her so Brian and Diana are coming alone – and... and guess what they are bringing with them?’
‘A live kangaroo for you, I suppose,’ Annamari snapped.
‘No man. Kangaroos are from Australia. They’re from New Zealand.’
‘Thys! Stop it. What are they bringing? Why are you grinning like that?’
‘You’re not going to believe...’
Annamari stood up. ‘If you say once more that I’m not going to believe whatever it is you’re not telling me, I’m leaving, because obviously, it’s not something I’m going to believe so I may as well not hear it.’ She hitched up her jeans and made towards the door.
‘Two tickets, liefie. Two tickets to the final. At Ellis Park. For us. And now that we’ve beaten the Wallabies, I just bet you anything we’re going to be playing in that final. You just wait and see.’
‘Ja right, and pigs will fly.’ Annamari returned to her seat, then jumped up with a squeal: ‘Two tickets? For the final? You’re kidding!’
‘Told you you wouldn’t believe me.’ Thys laughed.
Annamari threw a cushion at him.
***
It was time. She couldn’t put if off any longer. And, as Thys said, six years was long enough. Tucking the pile of clean linen under her arm, she turned the key, pushed the door open and looked into the room.
Her eyes darted around, looking for signs of... something. Anything. She stepped through the doorway. The old brown armchair where she’d read and daydreamed about Thys was gone from the corner – Thys had told her he’d burned it, along with the deep pink shaggy carpet, and the frilly pink curtains. ‘They couldn’t be cleaned,’ he’d said.
The walls were white. Before, they’d been a sort of pinky-creamy colour. And the watercolour landscape – a bargain Ma had picked up at the Artists’ Market in Bloemfontein – it was also gone. Pa had hated that painting so it had been banished to this room, her room, almost as soon as Ma and Pa had returned to Steynspruit after her wedding.
She let out her breath. There was nothing in the room to indicate the terrible tragedy that had taken place here; the terror her mother must have felt; the anguish that must have gripped her father and Christo before... before...
‘Stop it, Annamari,’ she said loudly. ‘Just stop it. Ma would be ashamed of you, behaving like a pipsqueak little girl. It’s just a room.’
She dropped the linen onto her old bed, walked over to the window and pulled back the new beige curtains. There, in the distance, the poplars swayed in the wind as they always had. When she was a child, she’d look out the window and watch them standing to attention in the moonlight, always vigilant, always on guard, protecting Steynspruit from monsters and ghosts. They always made her feel safe.
She shook her head, turned back and faced the room. There was work to be done. Brian and Diana were arriving tomorrow, and after the fantastic time they’d all had in Jo’burg at the final, the very least she could do was show some
good, old-fashioned Free State hospitality and make the room as welcoming as possible – and show their Kiwi friends that South Africans could be as gracious at winning as Kiwis were at losing.
‘South Africa needed this more than we did,’ Diana had said that evening at dinner, after they’d escaped the partying throngs that lined the streets all the way from Ellis Park to Sandton. Out of deference to Brian and Diana’s feelings, they eventually found a restaurant that wasn’t replaying the amazing World Cup final game.
‘When your president held up the trophy with your captain, well, I just got tears in my eyes and it wasn’t because we lost,’ Brian said.
Annamari smiled at the memory. It had been an incredibly emotional day. She’d been surprised to find tears dripping off her chin while Thys had snivelled like a baby Cheshire cat, his fist thumping the air in time with the ‘Nelson, Nelson, Nelson’ chant when Nelson Mandela walked out on to the field dressed in Francois Pienaar’s number six Springbok jersey and green Springbok cap. She’d chewed her nails to the quick through the 30 longest minutes of the extra time play, praying for the final whistle to blow after Joel Stransky put the Boks in the lead with an incredible drop goal. At the final whistle, she’d jumped up and Thys had swallowed her in a huge embrace and they’d just let the noise and cheering wash over them.
‘You see?’ Thys had yelled in her ear. ‘I said we’d win. It’s all going to be okay now. South Africa will be a great country. You’ll see.’
***
She quickly stripped the faded pink bedspreads off the twin beds and made them up with new soft, brushed cotton sheets. She stuffed the duvets into the elegant beige and brown covers she’d bought at the posh linen shop in Sandton.
Annamari went to the old roll-top desk. It was a miracle it had been spared. Not a scratch on it despite the fact that the wall behind it had been pockmarked with bullet holes, Thys said. She opened the desk and looked curiously at the yellow plastic Checkers bag inside. Then she remembered. Petrus had brought her the bag with the papers from Christo’s study when they were preparing to convert his house into the school; she’d told him to give them to Thys. Thys must have put the bag in the desk.
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